


Like A Secret In Your Throat

by grosss



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Feeding Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Stuffing, we're all dying bitch let's write some kinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grosss/pseuds/grosss
Summary: "Jesus," Gerard breathes, heart pounding in his chest. "No, no, Frank, you can't-" Can't what? He asks himself. Can't know? Can't tease him like this? He's overwhelmed, Frank's suggesting things he's hardly ever considered, save for in some deep corners of his mind."Gonna fill you up," Frank's voice is low, Gerard can hear him panting on the other end of the line.Gerard feels his face burn, all the way up to his ears, and he lets out a quiet 'shit' under his breath as he squeezes himself.Frank isn't talking about his dick, not this time.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 47
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at brlngmoreknives! Let’s chat 
> 
> WE'RE GOING TO GET WEIRD  
> I'M GOING TO MAKE THIS WEIRD
> 
> This is, uh....niche. It's different. I guess I have to do all the work around here. If food talk is upsetting to you, I would stay clear of this one. If you like it and want more of this sort, let me know. Here's my contribution- and I don't fuck with w****** or creeps. 
> 
> I saw Gerard say in an interview that he isn't a big sugar guy. It's the real deal.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and all characters are fictionalized versions and are not in any way meant to represent and real people or their personal lives.

"You like having things in your mouth, don't you?" Frank's voice is a little muffled coming through the speaker, and Gerard wonders where he could possibly be right now. He's sitting on the tour bus, flip phone gripped in his hand, sitting at the breakfast nook by himself. The rest of the guys, including Frank, are out somewhere. Frank's comment catches him off guard. 

"Yeah, I do." He grins, because Frank isn't wrong, not at all. He absentmindedly tugs at a thread on his shirt, twisting it around his finger and snapping it off. Frank's quiet taunting has him suddenly on high alert, and he sits up a little straighter in the booth, even though nobody is around to see. He does- he's a stereotype, a textbook case for oral fixation, if there's any truth behind it. If it's real thing. Sometimes he thinks he's simply over enthusiastic. Never slows down. Cigarettes and coffees and diet cokes give him stimulation. As for the dick sucking, well, maybe he just likes it. 

He'd just been on the verge of hanging up, whining about how he needed a bottle of diet Coke, a cigarette, but Frank had intervened, thoughts turning dark and dirty before Gerard could hang up the phone. Maybe that was what it was like, to be young. 

"What do you want, baby? Frosting? Ice cream? I could get you a dozen donuts, put it on the rider, let you lick my fingers clean." Frank sounds utterly fucked on the other line, and Gerard is surprised, but not disappointed. Frank is weird, weird like the rest of them. He just hides it well. 

It's filthy.

Gerard isn't really one for sweets, but he feels his interest pique, finds himself saying, "Yeah." 

His voice comes out all wrong, a mixture of surprise and boredom and a whole lot of lust, actually, because his brain seems to be catching up now, and what Frank is suggesting is really, really hot. He doesn't know why, but he'll deal with that later. His body has always betrayed his brain, in one way or another. 

"Yeah, what?" Frank interrupts his thoughts, sounding impatient and turned on. "You gotta answer me, baby." A tinge of his usual forceful demeanor slips in. "How much could you take?" 

Gerard considers. A lot, in the literal sense- he's let Frank play with him to the point of tears before, woken up sore and covered in so many love bites and felt so pretty and wrecked, but that isn't what Frank is asking, won't give him what he wants this time, but maybe what Gerard wants is changing. 

He sighs a little, because he doesn't like sweets, but Frank is fucking hot and demanding and the thought of Frank's pretty callused fingers in his mouth, forcing things down his throat until he can't take it any more is really, really getting to him, and maybe it wouldn't be so bad to admit that. It would be good. He would be so good. He thinks about last Thanksgiving; he'd retired to his room, so full he couldn't think straight, the act of undoing his jeans had turned into him touching himself. The only natural conclusion, he'd thought at the time. 

Gerard starts undoing his pants and belt, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Frank, fuck, what were you gonna-" He concentrates, wishes Frank were on top of him, wishes his fingers were in his mouth, thinks about eating and not stopping, just for Frank. It's totally obscene and a little strange, but his hand is already shiny with precome and he swears, wiping it on his jeans before continuing. He'll do laundry later. He'll introspect later, and he won't worry about one of the guys walking in on him touching himself out in the open on the bus until it happens. He could move to the bunk, but he's got a good angle going, one he can't get in a confined space. "What were you gonna say?" He whines, fucking up into his own hand. 

It's quiet on the other end, save for Frank's labored breathing. 

Gerard's impatient, feeling like he needs something to cling to, overstimulated and cranky with new ideas. "Frank, please," He nearly sobs, free hand scratching at his own chest, coming down to rest where hip meets thigh. 

"Fucking greedy boy," Frank mutters, and Gerard lets out a whine at that, nodding furiously as if Frank can see. He doesn't understand, but it makes sense, it all fucking makes sense to him, feels natural. 

"Gonna fill you up," Frank's voice is low, Gerard can hear him panting on the other end of the line. He doesn't ask where Frank could possibly be masturbating at a venue. He doesn't care.

"Jesus," Gerard breathes, heart pounding in his chest. "No, no, Frank, you can't-" Can't what?, he asks himself. Can't know? Can't tease him like this? He's overwhelmed, Frank's suggesting things he's hardly ever considered, save for in some deep corners of his mind. Frank isn't talking about his dick, not this time. 

Gerard feels his face burn, all the way up to his ears, and he lets out a quiet 'shit' under his breath as he squeezes himself. "Frank- shit, I'm gonna get..." Gerard frowns, realization hitting in that this is his last pair of jeans, and he's two seconds away from ruining them. "You motherfucker," He mutters, clutching his empty belly, for the first time wishing he had something sweet to gag on. He can't slow down, and Frank is hurling a slew of insults into the speaker along with an odd "so good for me, sweetheart," and Gerard is ruining his boxers and the fly of his pants. Frank can pay the laundromat bill, he decides. Maybe a cigarette and a diet Coke would calm him down.


	2. Breathe For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gerard, open your mouth." Frank doesn't break his gaze, wide eyes the same color as his own staring him down. He sounds impatient and a little breathless, but he's had enough of their games. If it were an ordinary day he might put up a fight, might giggle and wave him off just to test his limits, just to see if Frank would smack him around a bit first. He doesn't, though. This isn't one of those days. Frank's left hand rests on his shoulder, thumb dangerously close to his throat, so he closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the part two that you've all been asking for! Thank you so much for the nice comments on part 1, holy shit. It's amusing that I get more comments on a story when I write about something that I think will be too niche or polarizing. It's a nice surprise. I guess it's okay to be a little weird. Maybe we all are. Thank you so much. Much love.
> 
> If you ship w*ycest fuck off.
> 
> Notes:  
> 1\. If you're new here, this may not be for you. If food talk makes you uncomfortable or triggers you in any way, this may not be for you, and that's okay.  
> 2\. My ultimate goal with fanfic, no matter how cringe it makes me by simply writing it in the first place, is depicting everyone involved as ENJOYING THEMSELVES. Even if it gets kinky; the point is that the characters like whatever is going on. I've read some shit out there that seems very questionable, even within the realm of sadomasochism, or what have you. The point is that everyone is having a good time in our little universe. There are things that I won't write, and things that I don't agree with, even within the world of fanfic! I have boundaries, and if I write something weird or sexy or kinky or violent, I will do it in the most respectful, consensual way that I can.  
> 3\. That being said, I wrote this for my own weird enjoyment, in the hopes that others would enjoy it, too. Apparently they do, which is cool. It's all in good fun.  
> 4\. Disclaimer: These are only fictionalized depictions of real people as characters for a story, and are not in any way meant to represent real people or their personal lives/their personal business, and I do not claim to have any personal knowledge or ownership of them.  
> 5\. With all due respect....have fun.

Touring had an element of stability that Gerard liked, despite the chaos. They hadn't been at it for long, but had reached a plateau of sorts; no more van, no more gear getting knocked around in the trailer. He gets to stretch his legs out in his (admittedly cramped) bunk, gets to wake up in the same place every morning, although in different states. It reminds him of college, waking up in a bunk bed in a space with three other young men, savoring moments of peace and quiet, making sure he did his job without too much panic and making it to load-in on time. He'd fallen into a routine, and without the uneasiness that came with touring the year before, felt more comfortable. 

Every single Denny's in America was exactly the same. Gerard was oddly comforted by it, despite internally groaning at the prospect of yet another cheap diner meal next to another parking lot, another strip mall; at least they were the same, at least it was consistent. He enjoyed exploring new cities, but was grateful for a shred of familiarity now and then. 

-

They weren't sleeping on the bus that night. Gerard can see it through the restaurant window, taking up several parking spaces in the Super 8 lot across the street. Their bags were in their respective rooms, laundry in the coin unit adjacent to the motel. He could dick around on his laptop later, he could watch a bad pay-per-view movie. They could all breathe. 

Another round of weak coffee is brought around, poured into his comically small branded mug for the third time, and Gerard glances back to the motel, thinking about the pile of laundry he'll need to fold just to shove back into his bag later. Maybe he'll take it all out and bury his face in it first, if it's still warm. 

Gerard is deep in a conversation with Ray about a book they'd been trading back and forth on the bus, in between taking sips of his coffee and spooning eggs and potatoes into his mouth. He'd ordered three entrees, just for the hell of it, because it's Denny's and he feels safe and calm and they all share everything, anyway. There's a plate of pancakes waiting next to him, and he sticks his ring finger into the dollop of whipped cream on top just to pop it into his mouth, only because he likes to cause trouble and he thinks Frank is looking. 

Frank isn't looking. 

He's staring at his plate, blush creeping up his cheeks, sucking his lip ring into his mouth like he's thinking about something more important. 

Gerard doesn't really think whipped cream goes on pancakes, anyway. 

He sips on his stupid, watery coffee, leaning over to steal a piece of Mikey's french toast. He's allowed to do that, he figures. He's allowed to be obnoxious. It's a brother thing.

Gerard does his best to focus on the conversation at hand, tries his hardest to tune in and relax, but it's becoming difficult. Frank is still firmly not looking at him, blush faint enough on his cheeks to not look out of place, but Gerard sees it. He feels giddy and excited and still a little bit confused, but the confusion is quickly fading away into full blown horny-in-the-middle-of-a-restaurant. It's happened before, comes with the transient lifestyle, and he usually finds it annoying. Gerard likes to keep his cool in public, but he doesn't mind it this time. He wants to have fun, wants to indulge, and maybe fuck with Frank's head in the process. That's always a trip, always gets him what he wants in the end. Sometimes that means a slap on the ass, other times he just wants Frank's attention. 

Ray and Mikey are talking about something tech related that he doesn't understand and he focuses on his plate, pretending to be attentive and listen as he finishes his second plate of eggs and crepe, eating the strawberries with his fingers because he's allowed to do that too and he knows Frank is looking. He's allowed to be a little shit, and for the first time in their relationship, he's in charge, for better or worse. Maybe he wants to please Frank, maybe he wants to eat himself to death because he's allowed a break, because they're stationary for the first time in days and he simply wants to. Maybe he's enjoying himself, too. 

Gerard wiggles uncomfortably in his chair, two plates of food catching up to him and he sighs, tugging at his clothes under the table. He's fucking full already and he feels like he might be sick or get a really weird boner, and for the first time in his life, he's hoping for the weird boner. 

Ray offers him the rest of his toast, oblivious. Gerard accepts, saying "I could make some room," which is totally a lie. It sounds innocent enough, but Frank is gulping at his ice water like he's just choked on his dinner and his life depends on it. Gerard looks down at the table, suppressing a smile, and hears Frank excuse himself and slide his chair back, heading for the restroom. 

The plate of pancakes seems to be taunting him, soggy now, and Gerard relents and does his best to finish them, joining in on the conversation to distract himself. He thinks about where they're headed next, about the way Frank's hair smells when it's clean, about Frank holding him down and gently forcing the last few bites on him, cheap butter and all. He blinks, trying to compose himself, trying not to think about the way his jeans are tight around his aching stomach. It hurts, but he's a little turned on, and the look that Frank gives him as his eyes flit between Gerard and the empty plate just might be worth it. 

All too soon they're getting a check and someone's up front paying, probably using Brian's "take care of the boys" credit card, and Gerard waits by the doors, uncomfortable and dazed. There's nowhere to sit and he shoves his hands into his sweatshirt pockets, attempting to soothe the ache in his stomach. It's so much worse standing up, and he can feel his cheeks burn, knows that Frank wants him like this, pliable and humiliated. 

-

The walk across the parking lot to the motel is fucking torture, and Frank falls out of step with the group to walk beside Gerard, hand resting on his back, shooting him looks of concern and lust and a few of his stupid, mischievous grins. Gerard scowls a little, cursing himself for being so easy, so easily duped into the most absurd things for love. The absurd things he'll do to get off.

The motel room is clean and quiet and a welcome relief, and Gerard rushes to the bed, letting out a relieved "fuck," as he sits down. His shirts normally cling a little around his middle; that's just how it is, just the way that he's built, but he's filled out his old t-shirt now, belt digging in painfully where his belly rests heavy above his lap. It's a little weird and a little repulsive and Gerard is really, really turned on. He wants praise and abuse and the knowledge that he can wreck himself for Frank and get away with it.

"Fuck, you're so good," Frank sits down next to him, eyeing him up and down, dragging his hand over Gerard's stomach and humming- Gerard assumes- appreciatively. He looks like he wants to say something else, like he wants to say a million different things, but he doesn't, just keeps looking at Gerard like he's the best and sexiest thing since free porn on the Internet, and he loves that, loves the attention. Frank turns away from him then, rummaging in a paper bag that Gerard hadn't seen him bring into the room. "I got you something, you sick fuck." Frank grins at him, pulling a plastic to-go box out of the bag. It's a single slice of cheesecake from the restaurant, and Gerard feels his blood run cold. "You want dessert?" 

Gerard blinks. No. "Yeah." He nods, then says, "holy shit," tries to decide if he should be angry with Frank now or later. "Fucking hate you sometimes," he sighs, leaning his head back against the headboard. "When did you get that?" 

Frank shrugs, looking again like he wants to say something else. "While you weren't paying attention." 

"Come here." Frank opens the container, but he isn't giving the fork to Gerard. 

"I can do it myself, yanno." Gerard murmurs from the bed, moving his hand into his lap to smooth over the front of his jeans. He's been fully hard for the past ten minutes, and after that stunt in the restaurant, he knows he could do it himself. He wants to, wants to be perfect and greedy for him, wants Frank to touch him while he shows him just how good he can be. 

"I don't trust you." Frank laughs dryly, shooting him a look. "Come here."

So Gerard obliges, as he always does, and scoots forward on the bed. 

"Open your mouth." Frank opens the container, offering a good fourth of the slice to him on the plastic fork. Some part of Gerard panics, wonders if he'll die or throw up or be in pain for the next twelve hours if he eats anything more. He hesitates. They have a show tomorrow, he has to perform, has to be alert and awake and carry gear and /not/ be deathly ill. Another part of his brain reminds him that he doesn't need it, but he really, really wants it. 

"Gerard, open your mouth." Frank doesn't break his gaze, wide eyes the same color as his own staring him down. He sounds impatient and a little breathless, but he's had enough of their games. There's a silent "or" hanging in the air, Frank's eyes hard and unwavering. Gerard shivers a little, revels in the stern command. If it were an ordinary day he might put up a fight, might giggle and wave him off just to test his limits, just to see if Frank would smack him around a bit first. He doesn't, though. This isn't one of those days. Frank's left hand rests on his shoulder, thumb dangerously close to his throat, so he closes his eyes and opens his mouth. 

It's fine. It's more than fine, the world doesn't stop spinning, and he doesn't throw up. It's good, way too fucking good, and he finds himself leaning into it, taking the several bites like Frank is holding a gun to his head, like he has no choice.

"Frank-" His name comes out as a strained plea, both a question and a moan. Maybe he just likes the way Frank's name sounds on his softened vocal cords. 

"Quiet." Frank scoops up the dollop of whipped cream on top, all of it onto his middle finger, and Gerard leans forward to suck it into his mouth, feeling his hollowed cheeks heat up as he does. He's had plenty of things in his mouth before, but this- this is different, feels rude and filthy, and he straightens up for the next bite as Frank wipes his wet finger across Gerard's burning left cheek. 

"Please, please, fuck-" Gerard whines, not knowing whether he's asking for /more/ or asking him to stop, and he doesn't care.

Frank sighs, almost chuckling. “God, you’re such a slut for this.” Something syrupy and strawberry flavored is shoved into his mouth, once again on Frank's bare fingers, and Gerard sucks at it, vaguely realizing that the slice is gone and that he hasn't died, at least not yet, anyway.

Frank's colorfully inked fingers slide over his aching stomach, lifting his t-shirt out of the way to thumb at the warm skin. Gerard whines and Frank's fingers dip lower, ghosting over where his jeans are cutting into his flesh. Frank can't even slip his hand inside and he swears, neck and cheeks and ears turning a bright red. He mumbles something that sounds like a string of curses and Gerard's name, leaning down to press a soft, deep kiss to his open lips. Gerard sinks into it, savoring the softness and the gentle swipes of his tongue that momentarily replace the cake. "Want me to touch you, baby?" Frank lifts his eyes to look at him again, and the restraint is palpable. He's terrible at keeping his cool, but Gerard has to hand it to him for trying. "If I touch you, will you take the other one for me?" 

Gerard can only nod furiously, impatient and in pain, wrestling his jeans open so that Frank can get his dick out. He jolts a little at the contact, the second most pleasurable feeling he's experienced all evening; the first may have been the cheesecake, he isn't sure anymore, can't decide. His mouth falls slack in a quiet groan and Frank is lifting the fork to his mouth again before he can mutter a "thank you". It's all caramel and sugar and it burns a little going down, but Gerard doesn't mind. He does his best to keep his hips still on the bed, mostly because it hurts to move, but Frank's grip is tight and firm and he somehow finds bite after bite of caramel apple /something/ being lifted into his waiting mouth, and he's gotta fuck something or he might die. 

Frank's fingers are back in his mouth, remnants of syrup and crumbs and brown sugar swiped from the edges of the container and Gerard sucks them clean, knowing just how fucked he looks, knowing the praise he'll get for this later. Frank hushes him, pushing his long hair out of his eyes. "You did so well, Gerard, Jesus Christ," Frank's voice wavers, and Gerard can see him squirming uncomfortably as he watches him, can see how hard he still is. 

Gerard smiles a little, moving closer to him on the bed. "I always do." He's fucked and tired and way, way too full, he figures he deserves to be cocky. He deserves some credit. 

Frank snorts again. "Watch it." He tangles his fingers with Gerard's, free hand wrapped around one of his hips. "I'll make it worse for you next time." 

Gerard, ever surprising himself, ever weird and fucked up and perverse, hopes there'll be a next time. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not sponsored by Denny's(tm) American Restaurant Chains(tm). I did my research. You, too, can order everything we fed to poor Gerard at a Denny's(tm) restaurant near you. Peace.


End file.
